The Mask Reclaimed
by Azulira
Summary: The mask alone was all that adorned his wall, and he hated it, from its shape to it spikes. It felt like a mockery to him


**Hello there. Are you ready for one of my fanfiction ideas? This is based on a theory I had that says Majora's Mask was created through a mass sacrifice and then the Healing Song. This first chapter is based on the HMS who was an Ikana Tribesmen in this theory, and his memory of the event. Without further adieu, here we go **

The Happy Mask Salesman, his adopted title anyway, sat on the edge of the bed in a rather blank room. The only thing that adorned the wall was a solitary, heart shaped mask. He stared at, this mask had caused much trouble, yet he could not bear to part with it, not again at any rate. This mask had nearly caused the moon to fall and obliterate Termina. Yet he did not see it as evil. He had gone through most tortures known to man for this mask, yet that was not the cause of the pain he felt when he stared at it. He studied the mask, observing every intricate detail, from the color of its eyes to the shape of the spikes. It was incredibly smooth and well crafted, impossibly so in fact, it was as if it was crafted by the hands of a deity, and perhaps it was. He had forgotten that, along with many other things, long, long ago.

He remembered a few things though. He remembered four very large people, and with them three seemingly-normal sized individuals. Yet these individuals exuded something, an aura of sorts, that told him they were an ultimate force. Together, they seemed as if they could do anything. His memory of the entire thing was rather muddled, as if after they had nearly erased it all away. He remembered being cursed to walk across many worlds in search of the thing these people took from him. He screamed as they forced it off him, and he swore he could hear a tune. He did not remember what the object looked like, not at first, but he eventually remembered. He also remembered that one of these people had given him the ability to see the truth behind many things. He faintly recalled that her hair was blue.

There was one thing that he remembered through it all. The face of a woman, yet he did not know her. He felt an ache at the face, yet he could not tell why. That changed bit by bit while he was on his journey for the thing they had took, this mask he had learned. First, he remembered a childhood with the young woman, and then a kiss at a festival of sorts when they were much older. The festival, he remembered, was spoken about in hushed tones. It was fun though, there was food and games, anything that could distract anybody. But then he headed to the center of the festival. There was a circle, and inside the circle was a group of people, bloody and near death. She was staring out at him, her face begging for help. That's when they were lit on fire. They could not leave the circle, as if some magic was forcing them in. When they were well and truly dead, music started playing. As he listened and stared at the bodies, he grew into a rage. Then, something happened, a mask appeared. Their leader went to grab it, but the Happy Mask Salesman was faster. He grabbed it up in a rage, and the mask seemed to glide onto his face. It transformed him. He felt himself become a monster fueled by rage. He brought down a cataclysm of near godly force. His people were gone. And then they came, and stripped him of his mask.

He stared at the mask, memories ebbing back into him from the people. He remembered his people and what they had done to the woman he loved. And now that he had the mask, he remembered her. Majora, he had named the mask after her without realizing it. He stared at the mask, anger slowly creeping back into him. He grabbed the mask off the wall. He gripped it so tightly, a crack would have formed in a lesser mask. But not this mask, no, of course not. He was disgusted by this mask, of what it had made him do... No, the mask didn't make him do it, it had only enhanced his power and feelings. He wanted to destroy his people. The thought that he could do so again, to the people of this land. He threw the mask down on the ground, and of course it had to land face up, staring at him, mocking him. HOW DARE THAT MASK MAKE A FOOL OF HIM, THE MIGHTY... oh, he had forgotten that he had forgotten his name. That was one thing it didn't bring back. He stared at it. Then he lifted up his foot, and stomped on the mask, and it caved in. It was broken. He stared at the broken mask, and kneeled down, scooping up what remained, and began sobbing to himself. That's when he felt a touch upon his shoulder. He looked up, and there he saw one of the women from his meeting with the tall people. She had blue hair...

**Please feel free to review this.**


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